


Natural Turn

by Biscay



Series: Natural Turn [1]
Category: Home Fires (UK TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 21:38:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6488326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biscay/pseuds/Biscay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alison Scotlock and dancing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Natural Turn

Alison knows that her neighbours – friends – already pity her for her hermit-like existence, so she's grateful none of them know about her routines and rituals at home. When the loneliness becomes too much she'll put on a record, pull out one of George's old jackets (left in what has become his museum upstairs), and close her eyes, hold the fabric close and sway gently in time to the music. Twenty-three years later, she's not even sure if they smell of George anymore, but the idea that she might have forgotten his smell (his voice, the way his hand fit in hers, all the things she tried desperately to commit to memory before he left) feels like a betrayal.

Sarah and Frances only ask her to house the new schoolteacher the day before she arrives. Frances calls upon Alison's sense of patriotism (why does everyone always assume that will work?) and one minute she is blusteringly agreeing just to make Frances stop, and the next a strange woman with a harsh Liverpudlian accent is on her doorstep, ready to share her living space. 

She doesn't have time to get Teresa's room (George's room) ready, and somewhere between hefting armfulls of a dead man's possessions downstairs and projecting her insecurities onto Boris, she realises that this means the end of her evening (afternoon, early morning) dances with George's ghost. 

She asks Teresa politely to take Boris for a walk so she can bring out George's jackets one last time. 

The excitement that follows Teresa and Boris' walk leaves little time for self-indulgent nostalgia, and by the time her dog is returned, gruff and sulky as ever, Alison realises she feels more alive than she has in years.

* * *

Weddings in Great Paxford are rather unavoidable. Everyone is invited, and everyone knows that Alison won't have a prior engagement. She wearily puts the invitation on the mantlepiece, the 'plus one' mocking her as she buries herself in accounts. Teresa arrives home several hours later, effusing about what happened at school today, and Alison unwittingly allows herself to be drawn into Teresa's bubble of enthusiasm and long division.

The bubble pops when Teresa, bringing a cup of tea over to Alison's desk, notices the invitation. 

“Who are Kate and Jack?”

Alison leans back from her bookkeeping and takes a sip of tea. “Erica Campbell's daughter and her beau.”

“Are you going?”

“I rather think I have to.”

“I love a wedding.”

Alison's eyes flick from the invitation to Teresa's face. “Would you like to come with me?”

Teresa beams. “I'd love to.”

* * *

After that, Alison finds herself rather looking forward to the wedding, and the sense of anticipation is curious – like the feeling before a WI meeting but _more_. It will be nice, she thinks, to have someone to talk to while all the couples shuffle together on the dancefloor, and while she certainly doesn't expect Teresa to skulk in the corner with her all evening – Teresa has only been in the village a matter of weeks and probably knows more people's names than Alison does – it's nice to know she won't be the only person over the age of sixteen without some sort of partner.

Before the wedding, though, Alison has to sell her soul for thirty pieces of silver. She hands the falsified documents over to Mr Driscoll and manages to stash the ten guineas back into the WI treasury tin moments before Teresa comes downstairs. Her relief at getting everything tied up leaves her giddy with excitement, and as she takes in Teresa, beautifully dressed up for the event, butterflies that have lain dormant for years suddenly flutter. 

* * *

The wedding, like all weddings for young couples in the first flushes of love, is a joyous occasion, and Alison finds herself caught up in the festivities. She's learned a little about Teresa since she came to stay, but the mood and a little alcohol (Alison generally stays away from the bottle at home, knows where that path might lead) has them chatting companionably. She's genuinely surprised to learn that Teresa has never come close to marrying, isn't lying when she says how men must be endlessly interested. It's the happy atmosphere that lures her into accepting a dance with one of Mr Driscoll's associates. When he issues his demands and slips away, Alison feels shaken to her core.

Teresa is no fool and notices Alison's change in demeanour immediately. Alison silently wills her to suggest they leave, although quite what peace she'll get at home ruminating over threats of blackmail she doesn't know. 

But Teresa picks up their conversation where they left off, and when she's relaxed Alison enough to bring a smile back on her face, she wordlessly asks Alison to dance.

As Teresa expertly leads, she leans in and whispers “we can't have your first dance in twenty years be something like _that_.” It should remind her of her terrible situation, should make her withdraw into herself, but Alison laughs, her face nearly pressed to Teresa's shoulder. If Teresa was a man, people would talk, but she allows herself to enjoy the moment and the rest of the room seems to fade away. Teresa's perfume is soft and floral, so different from George (the inside of a musty cupboard and two decades of loneliness); the difference isn't bad, and Alison doesn't feel guilty. She is dancing a real dance with a real person ( _this_ person) and for the moments it lasts it is wonderful.


End file.
